Death's Reaper and His Lover
by Betwixted and Bewitched
Summary: When Seigaku does the nigh unthinkable, things don't go quite as planned. Fuji follows Echizen out the door, but when the two end up in an accident that threatens their chances at ever playing tennis again, things take another turn. Only, this time, they are taking a stand and going to take it all back. Starting with Rikkai Dai. / Slash; Now a drabble series
1. The Grim Reaper's Return

_Author's Introduction:_

Another work that I'm not sure where it came from, but it's my shot at the _Looking Away Challenge_. And yes, that does mean that most of Seigaku betrays Ryoma. See bottom for more details.

* * *

 **Death's Reaper and His Lover**

* * *

Many a headline to various newspapers had featured the enigma that is Echizen Ryoma since the relative start to his career. Even as a child, he had taken the competitive scene by storm with numerous consecutive wins. Later then, they covered his and his family's sudden move to Japan and Echizen's growth in skill as he led Seigaku to the nationals from the frontlines. They went ballistic when his relation to _the_ Samurai Echizen Nanjirou became more widely known, but even that paled in comparison to their reaction when the tight knit Echizen family vanished without a trace.

Speculations went wild, everyone had their own opinion and their own discrepancies over it all. Then the eldest Echizen sibling, Ryoga, went viral in the United States. As to be expected, the press conference descended into chaos. However, Ryoga stood at the front with an impassive face, waiting for them to finish with a distinctly regal aura. Then, once they were quiet, he leaned forward and spoke quietly, calmly, but furiously, "My brother is in hospital bed, _right now_ , and while [my family and I] appreciate your concern, we would further endeavor you to spare my family the ordeal of dealing with the press while we still don't know if he [and his friend and confidante] will ever play again."

To say the masses were outraged was an understatement. Some said it was a shame, that he had such grand potential. Some said good riddance, he'd always been too arrogant anyway. Some said he deserved it, he must of evoked karma somehow. Some sent well wishes and kind words, he was just a child.

Months after Ryoga's admission, and subsequent disappearance once again, a tall young man walked into competitive American tennis and whipped the floor with the whole lot. When the announcements called him Echizen Ryoma, sports magazines exploded with his face and story across front pages. He continued in that fashion, taking one competition after the next, one in Florida, the next in California, one in Tennessee and one in New York.

He'd outgrown his childhood title _Prince of Tennis_ , and soon, the public regaled him _The Grim Reaper_. Since his recovery and reemergence on the court, he had dropped a total of fourteen points in all his games, and some purposely to psychological wipe out his opponent. Few that went up against him could even stand once he was through. So many photographs showed the expressionless face of Echizen Ryoma walking away from a kneeling opponent, their eyes glassy and unaware.

* * *

Now, lowering my gaze from the article in hand, I peered down at the green-tinted raven resting his head in my lap and stifled a laugh. Running my hand through his hair, I covered my mouth with the magazine and chuckled softly. Few, if any, would believe if I said the very same invincible and expressionless Grim Reaper was the very same kitten-like teenager curled at my side. Even in slumber, he nudged into the touch and I softened with fondness. Considering the creature he held dearest to his heart, I was not all that surprised by how much he resembled a feline.

"Syuusuke," the boy—iie, young man—resting against me suddenly declared, his sleep thick voice efficiently cutting through my thoughts, and I folded my magazine to look down at his face. His honey-gold eyes stared up into my face, then the corner of his mouth titled upward in a smirk. Shifting to lay out on his back, he raised a long finger to tap the space between my eyebrows and curled both arms behind his head, "You're furrowing your brows."

"Hah?" I lifted a hand to touch said area and tucked the magazine into a pocket of my back, laughing softly with a weak shrug, "Suppose I am." The reply did not seem to satisfy him and his eyes narrowed on my face, lips pulled tight.

"Mada mada dane," he declared monotonously and shifted his displeased stare to the ceiling. Eyes drifting shut, he smiled tersely up at the heavens, "I am fine, and we will make them regret." The set of his jaw had me automatically shifting to ease the muscles in his neck, fingers unwinding the knot of muscle. "Besides," he whispered softly, "I have you."

"Saa, Ryo-kun," I pressed a hand to my face and splayed my fingers to cover my closed eyes, "You're making me blush. That's not very nice."

His mouth curled into a devious grin, but he did not rouse any further, and instead rolled onto his side to face my abdomen. Using one elbow as a rest under his head, he slid the other hand under the hem of my shirt and his skin burned hot against mine, "Wake me when we touch down."

"Hai," I murmured as he began to lightly snore. Pulling out my phone, I took a quick snapshot of his sleeping face and resolved to send it to his mother the first chance I got. However, looking at the picture, I realized just how drastically he had grown in the few years we had known each other. He had long since outgrown both his father and elder brother in height, his voice deepened with age, and his days out under the sun had darkened his skin well. Most strikingly was the changes in his facial structure which now matched the intensity of his gaze.

I ran a hand over his dark hair and curled my fingers in their feathery texture, musing that it would soon be time to cut both our hair. Mine know reached my mid-back, and as fascinating as it was to experiment with it, I was about ready to lose some of the extra weight. Hiding my smile behind my phone, I leaned back in my seat and pulled out another magazine, this one focused primarily on cacti and desert plant life.

It was unmistakable that Ryoma was adorable no matter the age, or height.

Having been absorbed in my reading, it felt as though it wasn't long after that the intercom system came to life with a burst of static and the flight attendant's voice announced overhead, "We are ten minutes from Tokyo International Airport. May all passengers return to their seats and buckle their seatbelts." She repeated the message again in English, Chinese, and what sounded like French before signing off.

Laying a hand on Ryoma's shoulders, I shook him lightly and smothered a chuckle when he did not react. "We're here," I said while shaking him a tag harder, but this too garnered no response, so I cleared my throat and spared nary a second to consider the closed-eyed smile that etched itself across my face, "Echizen Ryoma, you will get up _this instant_ , or I will ensure breakfast is served American for the next six months."

Like a charm, one bleary-eyed Ryoma bolted upward with a cry of, "Yadda!" As he regained his awareness, he turned burning eyes at me and glared daggers so hot I could almost feel the heat of his ire through the invincible shield of my smile. He gruffly shuffled back into his seat and scowled, "That wasn't very funny."

"I beg to differ," I decreed with an even wider grin, tilting my head towards the window, "But we are here."

"Oh?" Ryoma peered at me through his lashes then pulled up the shield on the plane's window. Just then, the entire aircraft shifted on its side, sloping downward in circular motion, and we caught a fantastical view of Tokyo. Ryoma's face softened into a rare smile, and I instinctively snapped a photo while he murmured, "Tadaima, ne? Syuusuke."

Opening my eyes, I cast a glance over his shoulder and smiled, "Hai." As much as we had grown in the Americas, Japan would always be home for the both of us. We sat like so, he peering out the window with child-like awe and me perched over his shoulder, even while the intercom buzzed with life once again, and even after the plane had long since landed and the other passengers were already unlatching their belts and gathering their things. Brushing my lips against his cheek, I rose to my feet slowly and stretched, "Come, Nanjirou-san must be tired of waiting."

"Why bother with the –san?" Ryoma frowned but turned to follow without argument, "Baka-Oyaji is baka, and okaa-san already told you not to."

"Mah, mah, Ryo-kun, Nanjirou-san is still your papa. You should be nicer to him," I replied cheerfully and collected the tennis bags we had stored beneath our seats—we'd never trust them elsewhere than directly on us—then led the way to the front.

"Yadda," Ryoma refuted obstinately, "He's the one that forced me to go to Seigaku in the first place." His arms snaked around my waist, and he rested his chin atop my head, forcing me forward in a stumble then back again, "If it weren't for you, he'd be locked out of the house. He should be grateful for my generosity."

Laughing, I reached up to pet his head then patted his arm, "Now you sound like you're taking lessons from Atobe-san, Ryo-kun." Ryoma choked vividly behind me, and I turned to chuckle at the expression on his face. _"He should be grateful for my generosity,"_ I repeated teasingly, "All you need is the 'ore-sama', a beauty mark, and the hair flip."

"Gah, you're disgusting, Syuusuke," Ryoma blanched miserably as he let me go and slunk after me in the direction of the exit.

No sooner had we stepped out than I heard a faint, though familiar, call, "Ryoma! Syuusuke!"

I looked up to see Rinko and Nanjirou standing a little off to the side. As always, Nanjirou was slouched against one of the pillars reading a book with his arm crossed partially into his robe and scratching absentmindedly at his stomach. Rinko was shaking her head beside him and was just removing her hand from his ear, no doubt having been about to give a scolding, but now she was looking at us and had obviously been the one to call our names.

"Rinko-san," I smiled, changing directions to intercept her, "How are you?"

"Glad to have you back with us," she smiled in reply, hugging me first then drawing her far more reluctant son into a hug topped with a kiss to the cheek. Then she turned a stern eye back on my face, "How many times now have I told you what to call me? You may as well be our son-in-law with how well you look after this wayward child of mine."

Scratching my cheek, I ignored Ryoma's garbled _'I told you so'_ from against his mother's shoulder and smiled sheepishly, "Ryo-kun can be a handful but his sleeping face is cute enough to make up for it, kaa-san."

Rinko beamed in my direction so radiantly that I had to lift my book to hide my face from its brilliance. She really was far too nice, and way too invested in making me officially an Echizen, or Takeuchi as the case may be. "Come on, boys," she said with a laugh in her voice and eyes, "Nanako and her fiancé have been up since dawn whipping up a feast for you."

* * *

I took a glance around the table that afternoon, seeing that most of us had finished, and set my utensils down. Ryoma and I shared a glance over the tabletop and I nodded sharply. He cleared his throat and all eyes fell upon his person, "We have decided on Rikkai Dai."

Slapping a hand to my forehead, I restrained both laughter and agitation at his blunt statement. The incredulous expression on Nanjirou's face had the internal battle tip more towards amusement, however, and I lifted my head with a placating smile in place. "We have considered our options," I said quietly, turning their attention away from their stoic-faced son, "and decided that it would be more beneficial to our long term plans if we entered Rikkai Dai and gained a few allies. Because of our falling out with Seigaku, we will most likely have to take this slow, but considering it was the Rikkai Dai captain that Ryoma won the nationals from, we have a greater chance of success there than elsewhere."

The patriarch and matriarch of the Echizen family studied our faces for a moment then cast a single, meaningful look at the other, sharing more than a wealth of knowledge in that glance. Nanjirou shrugged off the tension in the air and pulled out his newspaper, though we all knew what was behind it, "If that's what the seishōnen wants."

Rinko immediately snatched the newspaper from her husband, plucking out his favorite magazine from between its folds and returned the paper to him with a tight-lipped, closed-eyed smile that was somehow several times more terrifying than mine could ever hope to be, "Anata, there will be no perverseness at the dinner table." Then, turning towards her son and I, she gave a weak smile, "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

I looked at Ryoma then back and nodded resolutely, "Hai."

"Very well," her smile strengthened and she sat up a bit straighter, "I shall speak with Shiori about looking after you while you are there." At the look on my face, she shook her head with a fond chuckle, "Truthfully, we had predicted as such. We purchased a four bedroom house in Kanagawa a few weeks ago." Focusing her eyes on me, she paused for a moment then dipped her head in a bow, "We shall entrust you with Ryoma once again, Syuusuke."

Ryoma suddenly stood, "If you'll excuse me." He vanished up the stairs without giving any of us a chance to reply and I narrowed my eyes at his escape.

I offered an apologetic look towards Nanako and her, thus far, silent fiancé then stood to follow, "Thank you for dinner. I'll go see what's the matter with him."

Before I could reach the stairs, Rinko called, "Syuusuke?" I paused and turned to look her. She smiled, "Arigatō, Syuusuke, you do far more than you need to. Look after him for us."

Smiling, I nodded at her and continued up the stairs. Ryoma stood leaning against his bedroom door, poised in wait as though he'd known I would be on his heels, and his arms were crossed over his chest as he watched Karupin weaving between his legs. "So, Rikkai Dai it is," he said slowly, almost as though speaking to himself, then he lifted his gaze to mine and raised a brow expectantly.

"Hai," I breathed in reply to the uninflected question, "Starting Monday. Ready to call Yukimure-san 'buchou'?"

"Never," Ryoma snorted a laugh and reached out to me with large, warm hands. Pulling me in towards him, his other hand vanished behind his back to open the door. We tumbled through, though he managed to close the door behind us, and onto the bed side by side. "You're all I need, Syuu," he whispered thickly just below my ear, a hot tongue tracing the goosebumps his breath had formed against my skin, "Everyone else can go hang for all I care. You and Karupin are all I'll ever need."

I shifted onto my side and buried a hand in his hair, caressing his face and head with care, "Don't say that, Ryo-koi," I shifted closer until my head rested against his shoulder and eased into the familiar sensation that was our bodies next to one another, "Just because _they_ turned out rotten doesn't mean everyone will. At least try?"

"Hn," Ryoma grunted rather than offer a solid reply, and instead replaced his tongue with teeth and even hotter lips, no doubt coloring the skin of my throat a dark purplish rose. "Mine," he muttered against the mark almost too low for me to catch, the word itself warming the cooling skin with scorching possession, and I curved inward around him.

It were times like this, when he felt the overpowering need to reassert himself and his position in my life, that it truly sucker punched me in that gut that someone had irrevocably broken this child. It made his passion cooler, his sadness weaker, his happiness bleaker, his touches warmer; it turned his faith in people to ash and his capacity for trust to dust.

Sitting up, I pulled off my shirt then rolled until I lay atop him, hands reaching down and between us to pull at the hem of his. He wordlessly lifted his arms to assist in its removal, then rested his hands against the small of my back, fingers tracing the deep scars there. Shaking my head, I tugged his arms down to rest on the bed and lowered myself to lay sprawled over him, arms stretching out over his own.

My hands ran over his arms, particularly the left, until the brutal scar tissue brushed against my fingertips. Pressing my face into his collarbone, I felt the burn surge through my blood, but my eyes burned hotter.

Despite the evidence flowing against his neck, I made the valiant attempt to keep my breath steady and silent. He slipped his arms under my own and encased me in them, one hand reaching up to rest against my hair. "Shh," he crowed softly and cradled me there as though _I_ were the one in need of drastic repair.

And there, with his hands against my scars and the kind (searing hot) and soothing (burning, burning) sound of his voice in my ear, the scales of despair fully fell away from my eyes and overflowed onto his neck and shoulder, soaking down into the pillow beneath us.

He once told me that he would not cry—that he couldn't, that there was something shattered deep within. _"Don't cry,"_ said he so many months, years ago, and I'd lifted my hand to my face, feeling tears I'd never noticed had been flowing. _"This is just how it is."_

" _These tears are yours,"_ I remember relaying, smile deep but sad, _"Everything I am is yours."_

Now, he pressed his lips to my temple and ran his hands against feverish skin, silent in the wake of their necessity. Just like now, he'd taken me awkwardly into his arms and we'd laid side by side, the tears of his heart cascading from my face.

Closing my eyes fully, I gripped the sheets tight in hand and cast upward a wish, _"Ease his weight, let me share this pain."_

Sometimes, only sometimes, two very shattered, very unlikely people can make up a single whole. Sometimes, all it takes is being so broken you can't stand on your own for love to bind two people together.

Ryoma and I, we weren't in love with each other. We didn't feel the desperate desire to hold each other every minute of every day, but we were lovers. Lovers bound by dysfunction and the soul.

* * *

~ Betwixted and Bewitched

 _This is just a preliminary. It can technically stand on it's own (hence it is a completed one shot), but there is a large possibility of me expanding it. There would be two large arcs to consider, if I choose to expand, and the first would begin at the (non-conventional) "betrayal" and continue up until this point; the second would then start just after this one shot, and continue through until the "plan" is done. Just a thought, however, and it may not happen at all, but it is on my mind!_


	2. Vision of a Reaper

_Author's Introduction:_

T'is a bit early, but I felt a miniature update is due for the very, very kind people that have favorited, followed and reviewed this story. Truly, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I _know_ how much courage it can take to review a story and leave kind though constructive feedback; I often find myself floundering between the line of actually reviewing and holding my comments secret to my heart.

In specific, I dedicate this little piece to **Amethystgirl1943** for her (assuming gender due to lack of indicator and "girl" in username) gentle though earnest urging. Even though you didn't explicitly demand it, it is because of you that I've decided to do my best to write more in this universe, even if they are just snippets. _Thank you_.

This is a small scene from Third Person Yukimura Subjective Perspective, and from here, most drabbles (if posted) will be in relative order. I will attempt to include a small indicator at the top of each scene that indicates where in the time line it is, according to the first chapter.

* * *

 **Death's Reaper and His Lover**

 _Vision of a Reaper_

* * *

 **Four Years Earlier:**

Tennis, Yukimura mused impassively from where he stood, like most sports, was a lot like swordsmanship and other martial arts. After a certain point, one could even synthesize an opponent's emotions through the very reverberation in the court. He had heard of it long ago, somewhere, whispered in the tongues of urban legends. He'd even been able to evoke it in particular matches with other players of relative skill, but none like this.

Looking down the seemingly miles of distance between him and the other end of the court, he found he could not keep the brief smile from his face. Despite his loss, there was a sensation of excitement buzzing beneath his skin that hadn't been there before.

Across from him, Echizen wore a small smile, easily mistakable for being a tilt of his mouth, though his face glowed softly with the elation of a hard won victory. The boy moved first, encroaching near the net and for once uttered something other than his infamous motto, "Your play is terrifying, you know." Then he lifted eyes of liquid gold to cast lots with those of the ocean, and he cocked his head to the side, seemingly searching Yukimura's face for the right words. The first year laughed a little, quiet and sweet in a way none had before heard from the stoic child, then turned his back and began walking away, throwing over his shoulder, "But it's also beautiful. Terrifying but absolutely breathtaking. It was fun."

Rikkai Dai's captain watched him go with fascination embedded in his eyes, sure that the uproar in the stands around them made him the sole person to hear what he had said. Yukimura looked down at his racket, running his fingers over its strings with fondness, then realized just what had transpired. They had actually stood on the very same court, played the very same game, been two very different people, and yet still managed to exchange parts of their souls in their play. The thought stunned him.

So, when he looked up again and saw Fuji smiling expressionlessly at him, he smiled back and thought profoundly, _'That child will go far, far places and do great, great things.'_ Years later, he would know that this was just the beginning; that he was the first—though perhaps the second, seeing how Fuji's eyes slowly opened—to see the man that child could be.

"Terrifying, Echizen?" he called out before the boy could move out of the range of hearing, "I think you're mistaken. _You_ are far more terrifying than I." Echizen paused but did not look back, then continued forward without acknowledging his words. Yukimura laughed, combing a hand back through his hair. They called him _Child of God_ , like it somehow made him a deity of some kind, but, watching as the _Prince of Tennis_ walked away, he could see the start of a _God_ forming in the lines of the prince's back.

Hands shaking with a pleasant sort of numbness, God's Child turned towards his own team and made the short yet endless walk to them. Sanada stood in wait with jacket, towel, and bottle of water, all of which he took gratefully. He then fell gracefully onto the bench and bent forward, only just noticing the burn of his lungs for air.

* * *

 _Thank you all for reading, I do appreciate the time you have spent reading, and I definitely value your feedback if you would care to share it!_

~ Betwixted and Bewitched


	3. The Shadow of a Lotus

_Author's Introduction:_

I am terribly sorry for the delay!

Thank you all for your supportive reviews and the lovely words you had to offer. I have decided to make this is a series of drabbles and create a new story that will actually follow the story.

* * *

 **Death's Reaper and His Lover**

 _The Shadow of a Lotus_

* * *

 **Two Days Later:**

The Kagemura family technically did not exist in any census or registrar. Yet, they played a hand in every corporation of note, every non-profit of respectable stature, every sport worth playing, every occupation noteworthy, every government. The Kagemura name dated back hundreds of years, to days of samurai and shinobi. It lived on in adaptive form. When physical prowess became less important, they became masters of their individual crafts. Assassins became spies and technicians and doctors and researchers, swordsmen became sportsmen and trainers and engineers.

It was a family of orphans and adoptees and those lost in the world. The head of this elusive family was chosen in a poignantly ambiguous fashion. There were eight heirs, of which the first generation had been all female and thus coined _The Shadow Daughters_. None were related to the current head, it was one of the distinction in requirements, and were hand chosen by their predecessors. The Daughters today were rarely all female, but the name had stuck and they titled their successors appropriately. How better to hide than in plain sight?

Each Daughter was responsible for the inheritance of her name, and she chose Her Legacy wisely. Echizen Rinko looked over the balcony at the boys sprawled out on her couch and a smile flitted across her face. She, the last of her sisters to find her Childe, had finally found her "Daughter".

Her birth name had been Takeuchi Rinko, her married name was Echizen Rinko, but few knew of the name that existed between the two. At the prim age of four and a half, she had been christened Kagemura Shinju after her Mother. She had retired that name with her marriage, but she still maintained the paper trail of that life time.

Ryoma would always be her little Star, and Ryoga would always be her little Lion, but now she had her Daughter—the Lotus to her Pearl, the Ren to her Shinju—for who better to take her place than the man dedicated to her baby boy.

Below, Syuusuke had managed to be encompassed under the weight of her sleeping son, but still read over his shoulder in what could only be the most painful of positions. That boy had looked after her youngest even when she had not known how or where to begin, and he had a sharp and focused mind. His eyes were keen and observant, and he had proved himself more than enough.

Her Legacy moved her son closer, easing the pressure on his compromised elbow, and she vowed somewhere deep within herself that her son's betrayers would be dealt with. She was more than willing to leave them to the ingenuity of her Pride's punishment, for he was creative in ways adulthood had beaten out of her, but she would remain dissatisfied until she had laid her own claws into them. However, she trusted Syuusuke implicitly and was willing to wait . . . for now.

Aware of the familiar stare on him, Syuusuke adjusted Ryoma again and lifted his face to look at the boy's mother. "Rinko, -kaasan," he added belatedly at the narrow of her stare and added, "Is something the matter?"

Rinko smiled. He was a sensitive one, could even read the anticipation in her strict expression. He would need it to survive in the shadows. "Nothing's wrong," she descended the stairs easily, "I just have a topic I wish to broach with you." It was rare to have a private moment in their home, but with Ryoga out searching for challengers, her husband reading outside, Ryoma asleep, and Nanako and her fiancé holed up in their rooms, this was the best she could strive for. "I wish to offer you an adoption," she said coyly, her lips curling into a smile she had not worn in years.

Syuusuke only raised a brow and made a pointed look down at her son, and she laughed, "Not as an Echizen, darling, but a _Kagemura_." Immediately, she saw dawning awaken in his eyes and she smiled again, sharply, "I wish to induct you into the Family."

He studied her face, then laid a hand against Ryoma's hair—a tick he had developed recently—and mused with a sigh, "You really do not pull your shots, do you?" He slowly pulled himself into a straighter position, moving Ryoma into his lap, "And what exactly does this mean for me?"

So he knew there really was no option in the matter. Rinko smiled, then when he flinched, chuckled softly, "Oh, I think that's a conversation for another day."

* * *

 _Thank you all for reading. This is a little idea that I thought might be something to incorporate. Depending on your reactions, it may make an appearance in the story! The Kagemura family is an original creation of my own, but I thought it might make an intriguing subplot to flavor it. Kuhuhuhu, let me know what you think~?_

~ Betwixted and Bewitched


End file.
